Keep of Dragons (The Azuleah Trilogy Book 3)

by Daniel Adorno

  Silas looked down at her for a long moment. His expression conveyed disappointment, but behind it, she saw something else. Sadness.

  “You do deserve to die for what you’ve done,” he said frankly. “But if we all got what we deserved, every single one of us would be dead. I’m showing you mercy today, Becca, not just because you’re my sister, but because deep down I have to believe that you are capable of redemption. Lead us to Memnon and help me strike him down once and for all. Help me avenge our father and mother. Then we can put this miserable business behind us and rebuild what has been broken.”

  Ravenmane sighed, unsure of how to respond to this kindness. Redemption was not something she felt capable of. Silas only knew a fraction of the deeds she’d committed for Memnon. If he knew everything, would he extend such mercy to her? Then again, the worst of her sins was her role in Alfryd’s death. Patricide was undoubtedly one of the worst crimes anyone in a civilized society could commit. She could argue it wasn’t entirely her fault—she’d been under a spell and fed lies by the Draknoir. But she knew it was a hollow argument. And yet, here her brother stood, ready to move forward and willing to recruit her to this cause he’d fought for his entire life. She just didn’t feel worthy of it.

  Silas stepped closer and extended an open hand to her. “Will you help me, Becca? Or will you stay in this cell for the rest of your days?” He asked.

  Ravenmane swallowed her then grasped his hand. He helped her rise to her feet then took a step back. She sensed he was still unsure about her true loyalty, but she appreciated the monumental effort he put forward despite his skepticism.

  The outer door of the dungeon opened, and another noble stepped into the opened cell. She recognized the man. He had visited her the last time she’d been imprisoned in Aldron. The man had previously kept a poor appearance despite his noble blood, but now his face was clean-shaven and he wore the full regalia of a military commander.

  “So is she on our side now, sire?” The man asked, glancing at Silas.

  “It would appear so,” Silas said with a bemused smile. He jerked a thumb at the man then said, “this is Duke Weifar. He’ll be escorting you to your chambers where you can bathe and change into more appropriate clothing.”

  Weifar bowed at her slightly. “I was relieved when King Silas recruited you in our war effort, Princess Rebecca.”

  She contorted her face when she heard the title. “Please don’t call me that. I’m... wholly unworthy of it.”

  “As you wish, your... ahem, as you wish,” Weifar stammered.

  “Rebecca will do for now, I suppose,” she said. Her first name had rarely been her chosen form of address for the past few years. But the name Ravenmane carried a dark reputation that she wished to leave behind. Perhaps she’d become accustomed to Silas’ preference for Becca, though it would take a long time for her to accept it.

  “Very well, Rebecca. Follow me to your quarters. We have precious little time before the army marches out,” Weifar said.

  They walked out of the dungeon and climbed a stairwell leading to the fourth floor of the palace. She remembered this floor housed many rooms used by the nobility and honored guests of the kingdom. Much of the decor had remained unchanged since her youth. The stone walls held various pieces of expensive art created by famous artists throughout Azuleah. But one thing stood out to her along the hallways. Vases filled with fresh azaleas. Their pleasing fragrance filled the upper floor, and she recalled the smell from her childhood. Her mother loved these flowers, but they’d never stocked the halls with them. It must have been Silas or her father who’d instructed the servants to put these out—perhaps in memory of Queen Reina.

  Becca’s room was at the end of the hall and it was the most luxurious suite she’d ever stayed in. A four post bed took up most of the bedchamber, but there was also a table with intricate designs etched into its surface and four chairs around it. In the corner was a small couch with feather-down pillows made of purple velvet. A roaring fire in the hearth kept the room from being too drafty on account of the large window with wooden shutters that looked out onto the gardens below. In the center of the room was a large ceramic bathtub and a smaller basin, probably carried in by the servants. A fresh pile of linens, clothing, and Aldronian armor was neatly arranged on the bed for her use.

  “I’ll leave you to get yourself in order,” Silas said. “A maid will come to fill the basin and offer any assistance you might need.”

  “Do they know who I am?” Becca asked.

  Silas pursed his lips. “They do not. For the moment only a select few nobles know your true identity. I’d like to keep it that way until the assault in Arkadeus is finished. We don’t need dissension in the ranks. There are many who would disagree with how I am treating you and find it treasonous. I’d rather not deal with that controversy now,” he said.

  Becca nodded. “Thank you, Silas.”

  “Don’t thank me. Thank Queen Violet,” he said curtly. He exchanged a look with Weifar then left the room. A second later, a maid entered the room holding towels and bars of soap. Becca immediately recognized the girl as Liesl—the maid she’d terrorized only a few months prior when she escaped the palace dungeon.

  Liesl, like most servants, kept her gaze down and didn’t make eye contact with either Weifar or Becca. But it would only be a matter of time before the young maid recognized Becca as the assassin who’d fled the castle. That could prove problematic since Silas wanted to keep her identity secret and scullery maids were terrible gossips.

  “Do you require anything before I take my leave, Rebecca?” Weifar asked.

  Becca racked her mind for anything she could say to alert him to the potential danger of Liesl’s presence in the bedroom. “I’ve lived alone long enough to know how to bathe myself, Duke Weifar. Must I really be assigned a maid for the task?” She said haughtily. Though the assertion had an edge to it, she wanted Liesl to believe she was just another arrogant noble. The maid would be used to such irritable behavior from her betters and probably be glad to leave at Weifar’s order.

  Weifar’s brow furrowed, confused at Becca’s sudden rudeness. He glanced over at Liesl, who stood uncomfortably near the bed holding the towels and soap, eyes fixated on the floor. Then he looked to Becca who made a slight nod toward the door while glancing at Liesl.

  “Liesl, why don’t you leave everything on the bed. You may go back to the scullery and finish your other duties,” Weifar said.

  “Yes, my lord,” Liesl replied, obeying his order and leaving promptly.

  Weifar shot a questioning expression at Becca when the maid left.

  “I worked with her when I was pretending to be Brandewulf’s cook. Not to mention, I also threatened to kill her when I escaped the palace grounds,” Becca said, ashamed to admit the ordeal now.

  “I see,” Weifar said, frowning. “Is there anyone else in the scullery you’ve threatened or who might recognize you?”

  “I’m sure most would not have forgotten the cook who helped assassinate their sovereign king, Weifar. To honor Silas’ wishes for secrecy, I think it’s best I don’t receive any servants here for the next couple of hours.”

  Weifar nodded. “Good thinking. I’ll come back in an hour to check on you. If you need anything... I suppose just wait for me to return.”

  “Thank you. You’ve been too kind.”

  “Think nothing of it. Now get yourself ready. We have a war to win.”

  Chapter 20

  Memnon sat on the edge of the platform overlooking the steep ridge beyond the southern gate in Arkadeus and meditated calmly. He found that when he focused his mental energy on the power of the Gauntlet of Iniquity, the weapon would grant him visions of his foes. Silas Dermont, his accursed enemy in Aldron, frequently materialized in the visions. He spoke to advisors about an attack on Arkadeus and the defense of his city from dragons and Draknoir. The visions were sporadic and Memnon could only glean a few details, but it was enough for him to plan accordingly. He had pr
eviously dedicated much of his forces to the defense of the ancient fortress. With the aid of the dragons, he knew Aldron would be powerless against an aerial assault. Such an attack would weaken the ground forces in Aldron and give way for a smaller band of Draknoir to finish the job. But during his meditation he saw the contraptions Dermont had built throughout his city—bolt towers, he called them. They would undoubtedly be an obstacle for the dragons. Thankfully, he’d already commissioned his Draknoir builders to create something to counter Dermont’s plans.

  A flap of wings nearby broke his concentration, and he sneered as he felt the rumble of something massive on the tower next to him.

  “What is it, Lord Kraegyn?” He said, a slight edge audible in his tone.

  “Any word from your scouts in the east? My minions should have arrived here by now,” Kraegyn said.

  Memnon stood up and stepped away from the edge to face the Black Dragon. “I have no idea where your dragon kin are, Lord Kraegyn. But rest assured, I have a contingency plan should they fail to arrive,” he said.

  “What plan do you speak of?”

  “The humans are expecting us to attack Aldron. They have strengthened their fortifications and built defensive towers to shoot down your minions.”

  Kraegyn scoffed. “They will fight in vain. We are stronger than them.”

  “So you say, but you have yet to fight the Dermont line of kings. They have been a thorn in my side for years and their champion, Silas Dermont, is in power. He is an indefatigable defender of his people. Do not underestimate him. Remember, our first dragon attack did little to topple his kingdom,” Memnon said. He smiled inwardly, welcoming the opportunity to remind the dragon lord of his failings.

  “And your insurrection with the Allesmeade noble and the rogue elves also failed,” Kraegyn countered.

  Memnon bristled at the statement, but he ignored it and continued. “Regardless, we cannot place the entirety of our aspirations on your kin. I will send six legions of Draknoir to assist your tribes,” he said.

  “Six legions? You expect my dragons to defend that many Draknoir? Your warriors will only slow our advance to Aldron. We don’t need the extra forces,” Kraegyn said.

  Memnon forced a smile. He knew Kraegyn would be stubborn about receiving extra help on this assault. The dragon, though fearsome and powerful, had an arrogant way about him. A flaw not uncommon to his kind. Thankfully, Memnon prepared himself for this impasse and reasoned that the best way to convince Kraegyn would be to show him what he’d intended for the strike on Aldron.

  “Lord Kraegyn, I understand you have pride in your tribes to decimate Aldron. But if you would humor me for a moment and I'll show you what I have built, that might change your mind,” he said.

  Kraegyn’s eyes narrowed. “I’m listening, sorcerer.”

  Memnon smiled then walked to the other side of the platform facing the courtyard where the Draknoir drilled every day. He spread his hand out to the courtyard below.

  “Look down and see the contraption yourself,” he said.

  Kraegyn followed Memnon’s gaze. There among the legions of Draknoir were six box-like structures constructed from wood and metal. Each structure had four sides with an open roof where a metal beam extended from one side to the other. One of the wooden walls had a locking mechanism and hinges that allowed it to drop down, much like a draw bridge. Kraegyn’s scaly brow furrowed as he scrutinized the structures.

  “What exactly am I looking at, Memnon?” The dragon said incredulously.

  “These are war carriers. An entire legion of Draknoir can fit inside comfortably while one of your subordinates carries it aloft by the metal beam. It’s an easy way to transport my warriors to Aldron without slowing down your progress.”

  Kraegyn let out a guttural laugh. “You really think my kin will stoop so low as to become carrier pigeons for your army?”

  Memnon clenched a fist. He’d shown patience to this insolent dragon throughout their entire exchange, but still Kraegyn questioned him. If the dragon had a better idea, he’d gladly hear it, but all that came out of the beast’s mouth was complaints and threats. He took a deep breath and considered his next words carefully.

  “Lord Kraegyn, if you wish to annihilate the humans, you will need more than a handful of dragons to do it. The rest of your kin has yet to arrive from Ghadarya and we are scheduled to leave on the morrow. Silas and his people know we are coming—they are prepared to fight.”

  “You know this? How?” Kraegyn asked.

  “The gauntlet has shown it to me. I make it my priority to be one step ahead of our enemies. They are planning a major defense for an aerial assault with little regard for a ground force. If you order your dragons to take the war carriers, Aldron will be unprepared for six hundred merciless Draknoir at their doorstep,” he explained. He allowed the logic of his words to sink in. When Kraegyn didn’t reply immediately, he pressed on. “Couple that advantage with the fire and ferocity of the dragons, and we will surely take the city.”

  Kraegyn nodded slowly. “You are a cunning foe, Lord Memnon. I will relay the order to the others when they arrive.”

  “And if they don’t arrive?” Memnon challenged.

  The comment visibly annoyed Kraegyn, but he conceded the point. “If the hatchlings don’t arrive, we will leave as planned. The dragons staying here will have to suffice for now.”

  “And what about you? Will you join them?”

  Kraegyn shook his head. “My fight is here, Memnon. The Ellyllei will come here and I must be ready for him.”

  “I thought you killed that sniveling brat in Ithileo?” Memon said, surprised by the news.

  “No. I don’t believe he’s dead. He’s still out there somewhere. Hoping for my demise. He’ll come here to prove himself. But I will burn his flesh and spread his ashes throughout Azuleah. It is a moment I will cherish greatly.”

  The dust and smoke from the collapse of the dragon’s dens filled the air around Ghadarya for most of the morning. Sunlight shone brightly on the bleak landscape, illuminating the gray stones scattered around the area where Lucius sat. He wasn’t sure how long he’d been sitting down staring at the crumbled entrance to the lair where his father sacrificed himself. Part of him wished to dig through the rocks to find his father’s body and give him a proper burial. No one deserved to have their final resting place in this miserable country. Yet he couldn’t find the strength to stand or move. A powerful grief had taken hold of him and he couldn’t wrest himself from it. Though he hadn’t known his father long, he’d made a connection with the man over the past few days. Simeon Nostra was the last remaining link to Lucius’ past. He had so many questions left to ask his father and now he was gone, those questions would remain unanswered. Logically, he knew Simeon was in a much better place. Caelum was a kingdom of peace and joy, ruled by the greatest sovereign Azuleah would ever know. But the separation between the living and the dead was a hard thing to bear—especially for those who remained in the mortal plane. It was a small comfort that his father and mother were now reunited. Though it also felt like the abandonment of his childhood all over again. Lucius was left to fend for himself once more.

  “Lucius, we must be moving on soon,” Siegfried said, breaking him from his thoughts.

  Lucius nodded, but said nothing. His eyes remained fixed on the devastation before him.

  Siegfried sat down next to him and they shared a moment in silence for several minutes. The elf put an arm around his brother and hugged him tightly. Behind them, Lucius could hear Bashir praying in the Uwadi language. It was a mournful prayer similar to those the Uwadi uttered days ago in the mass funeral service for the fallen soldiers. Lucius’ eyes stung as tears coursed down his cheeks. He allowed himself to cry for a moment than gathered himself again. Siegfried stayed close to him throughout the ordeal, then he felt his brother squeeze his shoulder.

  “It’s time to go, Lucius,” Siegfried said.

  “I know,” he replied. “But I can’t just lea
ve him here. He deserves a proper burial.”

  Siegfried gave a faint smile. “He has the best burial place in all of Azuleah. Simeon Nostra conquered Ghadarya and struck down its dragons. Every one will know of his deed for generations, Lucius. Buried here, he will be a reminder for many of the strength of good against evil.”

  Lucius hadn’t really thought of it that way. But his brother’s words made sense. It was poetic in a way for a descendant of Cervantes Nostra to find his resting place in the territory of dragons after having defeated them.

  “Very well,” Lucius said, standing up suddenly. He took one last look at the rubble and floating dust over the pile. “Rest in peace, Father. Thank you for saving us and Aldron from a horrible fate. I will never forget you.”

  With that he turned around and then walked over to Bashir. The injured man gave him a sad smile and bowed his head respectfully. “Al-Abya was a great man and I can see you follow in his footsteps,” he said.

  Lucius wasn’t sure how to respond to that, so he just nodded.

  “We need to get back to the horses. I’m not sure what’s happened to the others. There’s been no noise coming from the pit or anywhere nearby,” Siegfried said.

  “Do you think they survived?” Lucius asked.

  “I don’t know. Dudley and the others didn’t seem optimistic. Our real aim was to kill the hatchlings and mothers. Your father certainly saw to that,” Siegfried said.

  “Whatever the case. We should meet back with the rest of my kinfolk,” Bashir suggested. “They will be anxious to hear news of what has happened.”

  Lucius had completely forgotten about the small group of Uwadi who’d stayed back to guard the horses. He wondered how Penna had fared through the loud explosions and rumbling. She wasn’t a skittish animal, but if the other horses scared easily, she might follow their lead. Before he had the chance to voice this concern, he heard crunching ahead of them. It was the sound of footsteps on gravel. Siegfried heard it too, and they instinctively drew their blades. Ahead of them, a light fog coupled with dust from the mountain’s collapse made it difficult to see who or what might be approaching. As the footsteps grew louder, Lucius saw the silhouettes of several figures amid the fog. As they approached, Siegfried lowered his weapon, and a smile formed on his face. Dudley and Darius emerged from the fog followed by Sabu and ten Uwadi warriors.